


Warmth

by luxdancer



Category: Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Ficlet, why did they not let us romance ben
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:18:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxdancer/pseuds/luxdancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pairing: Ben Finn x Female PC {Mage, Good Alignment}<br/>Rating: PG-13, implied sexual content</p><p>After she escaped the Darkness, the Hero of Brightwall cannot keep the chill of the desert night at bay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

The desert is deceptive.

Under the burning eye of the sun, it is a wasteland of light and heat - yet even the night brings no solace, the temperature drops to a bitter chill and the shadows are alive with terrible things. Outside the broken walls of Aurora, darkness walks incarnate, hungering for living souls.

The Princess whimpers in her sleep, pulling the thin tattered blanket closer around her slender shoulders. Arcane magic flickers across the surface of her skin as her fists clench, her teeth grit, and shadows whisper in her nightmares the doom of her nation, of her friends and family. The ground beneath her sleeping mat is frosted in ice, sparking blades forming a halo around her -

"Walter!" She cries out, and wakes, a half-formed sob in her throat. In the flickering light of the candles, it is difficult to decide if she is truly awake or still trapped in her nightmares. The Princess cradles her head in her hands; the night, it is the time of introspection, and she has much, too much, to think about. It feeds the darkness, her fear, her self-doubt, her guilt - it tempts her to lay down, to surrender, she is only an untried child, what more can she do?

The Princess looks around the room, unsteadily rising with the blanket still around her shoulders. Through the doorway, she sees Priestess Mara still meditating over Walter, his form prone and still, as though dead. She walks out into the temple hall, to study the altar of candles, the stone face of the idol that looks over an absent flock. She considers all the choices that brought her to this moment, a breath away from being devoured, from failure. If she had died in those caverns, she would never have to worry about failure again. The Princess shakes those thoughts from her head with ferocity, dislodging her loosely knotted hair.

"Couldn't sleep, eh?" The Princess turns to see Ben approaching. "Can't blame you, probably got a lot to think about." He stands next to her and she resists the urge to lean into him - she can feel his warmth, it radiates comfort and vitality. "It's bloody cold, isn't it? Funny thing too, it being so hot during the day."

The desert night is killingly cold, she thinks, and shivers, reminded again of death and its nearness. She wants to forget it all, just for one night, to not think about the shadows or Albion or the coming battle or her brother, his snake-cruel eyes as he forced her to choose. The Princess feels a hand on her shoulder, barely there, hesitant, but the heat spreads through her shirt to her skin, to her bone. She looks up to see Ben looking at her, his brow furrowed, his face written with concern, empathy. "You alright, princess?"

No, however, the Princess does not say this. She must be the morale of the people and she should reassure him or at least brush him off - but instead she does nothing except move a little closer so that his hand rests more surely against her. To his credit, despite playing the buffoon, Ben wisely says nothing, does nothing more than watch her stare at the candles and let his hand heat her cool skin.

After an eternity of silence, she speaks. "You're very warm."

"I'll take that as a compliment, m'lady, maybe I'll get that as a title, eh? Ben the Warm, they'll call me, Ben the Radiator, Ben th-" His voice falters as the Princess steps into him, sliding under his arm to rest her head on his shoulder. She looks up at him, the candles reflecting in his eyes and then he closes his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. When she lifts herself to kiss him he meets her partway, their bodies silhouetted against the bank of candle flame.

"It's too cool to sleep," she whispers, her face bent to his ear, "please- stay with me?" He presses his lips to her hair and then lets her lead him away from the temple hall, back to the sleeping mats.

There is no one else then - no princess, no revolution, no killing darkness, only two people sharing their warmth against the chill of the desert night.


End file.
